Tiny Dancer
by The Madmadam
Summary: Choices. (Spoilers for GTH.)


**AN: WARNING WARNING MAYDAY MAYDAY! MAJOR SPOILERS HEREIN! CULPRIT REVEAL!**

 _July, 1989_

"I think maybe if Harper hadn't had to go to the Krauthammer Institute last year…" Charlotte trailed off, fidgeting.

What a consolation prize. What a whirlwind, this recent past: Austin, the plane crash, Harper's "boarding school," getting booted from college, a little pink plus sign.

She wished she could forget it all.

"You know you're always welcome here," Charlotte added gently.

"I know."

Charlotte's face relaxed as she smiled. "Good. If it could have been different, Clara…"

Clara knew it couldn't have been of Charlotte's own volition. She wasn't that cruel. Besides, when it came to that or the will of her ailing grandfather, she was pretty easily led. With dark hair and pale skin and almond-shaped brown eyes, Charlotte was the quintessential homegrown debutante, successfully blending the girl-next-door looks with those of the societal woman. Despite that she hadn't really been into the dating scene, and the dating scene hadn't really been into her. Nobody cared, either. She could do anything she wanted on account of being good-looking… and nice. Charlotte treated Clara as her sister on the day they met. People said they looked like twins, so the pair worked a little bit off of that.

All things considered, this development didn't really make sense.

"Why did you have all the money to go to me in the first place?" Clara asked flatly.

"W—I thought Harper would be taken care of," Charlotte admitted. "It was going to go equal. I wanted it to go equal again, but—it's how Grandpappy wanted it," she squeezed her shoulder. "I don't understand why he made such a big deal about it, but he kept bringing it up and wouldn't listen to me."

"Wouldn't have anything at all to do with Austin's disappearance, would it?"

"Oh, Clara." Charlotte put her arms around her waist and laid her head over her shoulder. "He just doesn't understand about these things."

"What things?" Clara pulled away. "Carelessness? Miscalculation? I've seen the looks he gives me, the looks everybody else on the mainland gives me."

"But it's not 1900 anymore."

"It may as well be."

Charlotte stopped short at this, biting her lip in thought. "I'm sorry, Clara. Really I am. It's so unfair to you."

"Oh, I know," Clara said. "I'll just have this thing and disappear as soon as Grandpappy kicks me out of the family."

"That'll never happen!" Charlotte protested.

"It's already happening. I'm not going to get a cent."

"Well, it's not going to be finalized right away anyway. There'll be plenty of chances to get Grandpappy to change his mind. I just wanted you to be prepared if it comes to that." Charlotte leaned forward. "I've got some money stashed away. Grandpappy doesn't know about that."

"It's fine, Char. I can manage on my own."

"I'm still going to help you, with whatever you need. When that baby comes out, I'm gonna be the first one to spoil it."

This got a small grin out of Clara. She placed a hand on her stomach. The thought of her baby reminded her that the world wasn't ending. She'd get money—from whichever source—and it'd be okay. It'd all be okay.

"Wade's over for a visit," Charlotte nudged her. "Wanna go talk to him?"

"He's reckless. I worry for the child."

"Okay." Charlotte gave her one more hug. "Do you want me to leave you alone or stay?"

"I'll be fine." Clara offered a wan smile.

"Okay," Charlotte said again. There was a rustling sound as she moved through the ivy, then nothing.

The solitude hit her in the nose, in the pungent ambrosia of Bear's Breech that already sent her stomach spinning and planning a path to the toilet, that she now had to experience with only a ghost of a hand in her own, no wedding rings.

Alone.

Clara threw herself onto the fountain and wept.

 _October 30, 1989_

Oh, how patriarchal it was in this society, with Charlotte wrapped around Grandpappy's little finger and herself unmarried and pregnant before her twenty-first birthday. She felt another morning sickness coming on.

"Did you see the Birchfields' little boy? Came early today. He's so cute!" Charlotte smiled, face birthing a dimple.

"I hope mine comes out looking just like that," Clara smiled. "A little blonde mop, chubby as a baby Cupid—"

"You want a boy? EWWWWWW."

" _Harper_!" Charlotte laughed. "Don't interrupt."

"Really, Char, this costume is cumbersome. Why?"

"Because I'm a pristine southern belle." Charlotte Thornton twisted just enough for the hoop skirt to follow with a little bump, then she dropped into a curtsey.

"You know who you look like?" Harper tapped her elbow.

"Who?" Charlotte chuckled.

""The _lady_ in red." Harper bugged her eyes and waved her hands. "Boo! You're a spy."

"I actually am a spy."

Harper cocked her head. "Really?"

Charlotte laughed. "No, but I'm dressing up as one."

"Do all spies wear red?"

"I don't know. Do they?"

"The lady who got John Dillinger killed did. That's who _that_ is. The Lady in Red."

"When I turn twenty-one, _I_ had better get such a good costume," Clara replied dourly, cutting their banter short.

Charlotte smiled and cupped her cheek. "Of course you will, hun."

"Me too!" Harper nagged, tilting her head upward.

"You too." Charlotte cuffed Harper's head. She looked from her sister to her cousin with an impish little grin. "Let's go, ladies."

"One thing first," Clara said. "Char, there's something I left up at the cottage."

"What is it?"

"My mask." Clara fidgeted. A thump rang from her abdomen. Dancing in the womb.

"I'll get it!" Charlotte said happily, waltzing out of the room. "See you two downstairs."

Harper glanced over at Clara. Her eyes went smaller.

Clara looked away.

 **Wrote this along with a few other snippets back when GTH came out. Originally it was going to be longer, but I like the cutoff point. Clara's no sweetheart, but given the implications that rise in GTH, I feel for her. We know that 1) Austin, Jessalyn's father, isn't around... and isn't mentioned by any of the characters (and his name only appears on the family tree), so he probably hasn't been around a long time and 2) Clara would have been pregnant with Jessalyn on the night of the fire. So... pregnancy hormones are a bitch, amiright?**

 **Title is taken, of course, from Elton John's song of the same name.**

 **Major thanks goes to capmalreynolds, whose story, "Facing the Aftermath," inspired me to slap some finishing touches on this and get it up. Go read her story (and, of course, review!).**


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